Meredith Webber - Sheikh, Children's Doctor...Husband

Sheikh,

Children’s

Doctor…

Husband

Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page Sheikh, Children’s Doctor… Husband Meredith Webber www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical ™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

MEREDITH WEBBERsays of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical ™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

HE’D send for her!

No, he’d go himself.

Shouldn’t there be someone else to handle things like this? Monarchs of their country shouldn’t have to check out women who’d intruded themselves into the royal family.

His father certainly hadn’t checked out Clarice.

Perhaps if he had, things would have been different …

His Supreme Highness Sheikh Azzam Ghalid bin Sadiq, newly anointed ruler of Al Janeen, groaned and buried his head in his hands as the random thoughts whirled around inside his head.

As if his father could have done anything to prevent his twin brother’s marriage. Bahir had fallen in love with Clarice the moment he’d laid eyes on her, not noticing that Azzam had already lost his heart to the beautiful woman. But it was the way Clarice had transferred her attention from him to Bahir that had staggered Azzam, and her behaviour since, the pain she’d caused his brother, had left Azzam with a deep distrust of women.

That is a ridiculous bias, the sensible part of his brain told him. You’re judging all such women by one example—totally unacceptable!

Yet deep inside he knew the hurt had never really healed—Clarice’s betrayal had cut deep, leading to him shunning most female company over the last few years and seeking solace in his work.

Which didn’t solve the problem of the stranger in their midst!

He’d see her himself. He’d handle it.

He left his office, his mind churning as he entered the wide colonnade surrounding the courtyard gardens, striding towards his mother’s favourite sitting area.

Striding—but reluctantly.

He’d met his mother off the plane on her return to Al Janeen, but in the cluster of chattering women disembarking with his mother he hadn’t noticed a stranger among them.

Had she deliberately hidden herself among the other women?

He tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing in his head but the parallels with Clarice’s arrival in his country were just too strong to be ignored. Back then, it had been him, not his mother, Clarice had accompanied, him she’d fussed over on the flight, convincing him he’d need a massage therapist once the cast was off the leg he’d broken in a skiing accident.

Not that he’d needed much persuasion. He’d been attracted to the golden beauty from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, fallen in love with her within days, only to find that once she’d met Bahir and realised he was the heir, Azzam had been dropped like a smouldering coal.

Azzam couldn’t say for certain his sister-in-law was responsible for his brother’s death, although he knew her continual and extravagant demands had weighed his brother down. Then there was the talk of fights and arguments that was surfacing among the staff—one story in particular of a loud and bitter altercation before Bahir had driven off in his car that fatal day …

It could all be rumour-mongering, but Azzam had to admit that recently Bahir had been patently unhappy, though he, Azzam, had been too busy with his own interests—with his passion for the new children’s hospital—to seek too closely into the cause.

The pain this knowledge caused outweighed all other—to have failed his brother, his twin, his other half! Although, could he have done anything? Interfered in his brother’s marriage?

Azzam knew he had to stop groaning. Groaning achieved nothing. In fact, it was weak and wimpish—he was behaving like a fool!

He had to pull himself together and behave like the ruler of the country.

He had to check out this woman, for a start. His mother was particularly vulnerable at the moment, and he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her then upsetting her further by letting her down. That, too, had happened in the past …

Straightening his shoulders, he strode on towards the shaded area where his mother sat each afternoon with her friends and female relations.

What was she doing here?

How had she let herself be persuaded to fly off at a moment’s notice to some foreign country?

What about her jobs?

The hospital had assured her, when Alex had phoned them, that they would always have her back. Doctors willing to work nights in emergency rooms were always welcome. But how long would the clinic keep her second job open? She’d thought maybe they’d pay her while she was away, as technically Samarah was their patient, but that idea had been slapped down, the manager telling her if she took time off to accompany Samarah back to her home, it would be without pay.

Pay she desperately needed. But when Samarah had wanted her help, she hadn’t had the heart to refuse.

Alex pondered the situation for the hundredth time as she lay back on the silk-quilted bed. No answers were forthcoming so she looked around the sumptuous surroundings, trying to take it all in so she’d remember this part of the dream in which she found herself.

She was in a room with dark red walls, hung with what looked like very fine carpets—tapestries perhaps—woven into fascinating patterns with jewel colours of emerald, ruby and sapphire, and the shadows on the silk coverlet on which she lay were formed by fretwork across open windows, what looked like marble carved into patterns as intricate as those in the carpets on the wall. More carpets were layered on the floor, so when she stepped off the bed her feet sank into softness. Above her, silk sheets like those on which she lay were draped from a central point in the ceiling so she had the impression of being in an extremely luxurious tent.

Her journey had taken on the aspects of a magic-carpet ride to a fabled world, for here and there around the rooms were huge brass urns like the ones in Ali Baba’s story, and strange-looking lamps Aladdin would have recognised!

It’s an adventure, she told herself.

Enjoy it.

Work will wait.

Oh, how she longed to believe that—to relax and enjoy the thrill of the new—to see something of the world beyond this room, the wide, empty desert, the rising red dunes, the colour and scents of the markets and the noisy delight of the camel auctions Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and obvious love.